More scrubbing and some shine at last

[Hilde's log]

Let no one tell you that refurbing a boat is not glamorous work. I post this photo of me in varnish/paint thinner protection mask to prove my point.

I've almost finished the port side of the salon, and have moved into the galley. Here is the galley before I tore into it:

You can see why it is time to do all this work, after 20 years of hard labor for the original varnish. Here is a closeup of the wood before I started:

Why it takes forever...I am scrubbing off the quick touch-up coat Raven's previous owner applied without (I think) sanding the original layer. That touch-up coat turned leprous and took a lot of scrubbing to remove. I do it by hand, being a dead loss at electric sanders.

The galley, mid-refurb. The wood on the right is done, except for the trim and the framing. The junk on the counter is going home with me to be sanded while the current varnish dries. I am also in the middle of a stack of drawers that are being re-varnished and having their insides painted.

And here is a glimpse of the future! See how the new varnish shines and brings in the light? It's worth it, just so very slow.

Meanwhile, Cap'n Dave labors on. His work isn't as easy to appreciate as new varnish, but it much more important in terms of actually being out and sailing.

He installed a galvanic isolator, which required several hours of work in a hot boat (all the electric had to be turned off), and then a long shower and a nap to recover. That was it for that Saturday. The galvanic isolator should make our zincs last longer and keep us safe(r) from weird wiring at questionable docks.

This stern light cost David several days of work. "All" he did was move it from the stanchion (where it blinded us at night and was blocked by the wind vane) to the back of the wind vane. This involved creating a new bracket (multiple trips to store, storage, etc.), wresting the rusted screws out of the old bracket, disconnecting and reconnecting the various wires, repairing those that were UV-cracked, and resisting the urge to whack it with a large hammer. In other words, a week of evening effort.

It can be overwhelming

[Hilde's Log]

Ten months, two weeks to blast off, more or less, depending on … everything.

We are working away on the physical tasks before us, the financial, retirement, and familial decisions we need to make, trying to take it steady and not get overwhelmed. Sometimes we do pretty well, other times not so well. There is just so much to do and decide.

I wonder why on earth we didn't do a lot of this stuff before, and the answer is probably because we couldn't see the exit, just the tunnel. We couldn't recondition the boat while we were living on her. Once we moved off, we found ourselves in the “go home and melt” mode. Working all day, running necessary errands after work, going home and making/eating dinner, all that seemed to preclude doing anything on the boat during the week. The same set of circumstances, without the goad of a timeline, allowed us to ignore the other life decisions that were yammering in the background. Then on weekends, other more interesting or pressing things stood in the way. It was easy to say “next weekend” because there was an unlimited number of them and we needed a break. Now we see the exit, and the number of weekends is suddenly very limited. It's easy to get overwhelmed.

I have mixed emotions about this period of time, this “suiting up for the next thing”. I don't really know what this next thing, this who-knows-how-long-and-where cruising thing, this living-into-the-last-part -of-our-lives thing, is going to look like.

Part of me is so excited, my hair's on fire, to paraphrase a friend who has a poetic gift for overstatement. To shake free of the schedule and the boredom and the routine...woo-hoo! I remember the spectacular scenery and sights. Is there anything more glorious than phosphorescence in a summer sea? Than the sun coming up in a molten-gold sheen over the water? Than the absolute silence of a still, star-studded night in an empty anchorage?

Part of me remembers quite well how exhausting it can be. How frightening some experiences are. How frustrating it can be to do the simplest chores, like buying groceries or doing laundry. How isolating it can be.

Part of me is worried. It's been ten years since we were out. I'm ten years older. I get tired more easily. I live with a chronic disease that requires a specific diet. Will I be up to the physical challenge? Will David? I remember the times when he had to do foredeck work in the middle of the ocean at 2 a.m. You can't always avoid those times.

If we go out and for whatever reason it doesn't work out, or when we simply decide we're done, then what??

Mix those mixed-up emotions with the long list of things that need to be accomplished, decided, and let go of before May 2017, and you can get Overwhelm.

When that day comes, ten months and two weeks and some days from now, it will be the same sense of leaping off into the unknown that we experienced in 2006, tempered to an extent by our experiences since then. It will be change, on a huge scale. And change, big change, can feel a lot like dying. Fortunately, I believe fervently in rebirth.

Cutting a Hole in the Cockpit Floor

[Hilde's log]

 

I have to admit, cutting a hole in the cockpit makes me really nervous. But if you must, this is what David did:

First, he measured it with painter's tape, which is not horribly sticky on the back and easily removed. Then he made sure (yet again) that he wasn't going to cut through things like bits of engine, electrical wires, etc. He used a heavy-duty jigsaw with a diamond-edged blade and cut all around the tape. Of course he was being good and wearing goggles and a filter mask.

Next, he eased out the cut, about 1" thick, fiberglass and composite, and gazed down into a big, black hole. Then he vacuumed like crazy to get up the dust and particles.

Finally, he plopped the hatch into the hole. The frame still needs to be bedded, but that shouldn't be too difficult. David told me the hatch would be flush, but it's got a bit of a rounded top. The handle does not stick up. When he wants to get in, he raises and turns the handle and that releases the dogs holding it down from below. 

David says the boat hull slopes quite a bit, so it will still be tricky to work on the engine. At least he will be able to see what he is doing. This hatch has been on his bucket list forever. Not so much mine. But then, I don't work on the engine!

The rest of the week is vanity work - teak. That's more and more a morning exericise as summer has arrived and below decks without A/C in 100 degrees is no fun. We don't run the A/C around the wet varnish because of the fluff and dust that tends to fly around when it's on. So it's sand in the evenings and varnish on weekend mornings.

Slow and steady wins the day (and drives me nuts)

 [Hilde's log]

This is our cockpit floor (looking forward toward the bow of the boat), with the new hatch rim laid out for size. It's a substantial hatch, made of cast aluminum, and quite heavy. When installed (which involves cutting a hole in the cockpit floor), it will be flush with the floor. Using this hatch, David will be able to access the back of the engine.

View looking forward to the V-berth. David was helping me sand prior to the second coat of varnish. You can see the contrast between the port and starboard sides and also glimpse the mess below. He's standing in front of the V-berth, which is jammed with cushions and boxes and who knows what.

The thing about boat projects is the time they take. 

It's maddening, for those of us used to computer quickness. It reminds me of my impatience, years ago, when the office got its first laser jet printer. Realize that I am of the generation that saw long legal documents hand-typed, when changes were typed on a separate piece of paper and then carefully cut and pasted into the original document. When the laser jet arrived at the office it was light years faster than the dot-matrix printer (which was the huge improvement over cutting and pasting and MAG cards). I caught myself standing at the laser printer saying “Oh, come ON” to documents that printed about 1 page per 2 seconds. 

All of which is to admit that wanting stuff done fairly quickly is a weak link for me. Now that we have an actual exit date, I am rarin' to go and am blocked by all the stuff that has to get done first.

Waiting is part of what you do when you do anything on a boat. Every last task takes doing a bit and waiting, doing a bit and waiting. The teak refinishing is 2-3 hours action and 2-3 days waiting, and you can't do anything else while waiting for it to dry because any mess will end up stuck to the sticky finish. Installing the hatch means ordering it and waiting two weeks for it to arrive and then waiting for good weather and time off for the installation.

Then there is chore reshuffle – when you discover you can't finish chore number 1 because chore number 26 has just muscled its way to the top of the list. Case in point: turning the boat around in the slip so David could more easily access the wind vane (he is moving the stern light to the back of the wind vane - formerly chore #2) and realizing the teak on deck is so awful it has to be moved up to chore #2, right after the hatch, lest we get kicked out of the marina for ugly boat trespass. We had it far down on the list because it wasn't necessary for us to get back aboard and because we didn't really have to look at it, but now we have to get presentable both to prevent issues with the marina and to salvage our pride. But it means that putting the stern light on just has to wait (again, no sawing, etc. around wet varnish).

The most common block to getting anything done is the "where the hell is the ___" syndrome. That is when you are all set up to do something that requires this, that, or the other tool and one of them is awol. It's either in storage, at the rig, hasn't been purchased, or (my favorite) it's right there on the boat but you can't see it because other project bits and pieces have covered it up.

Chores for this week: hatch install, sand and put on the 3^rd coat of varnish below, and, now, bleaching the gunnels to begin the deck teak refurb. Unless of course, something else comes up.

So we do a little bit and go home. Do a little bit and go home. Slow and steady. Oh, come ON.

Eleven months to go....

[Hilde's Log]

OMG. We are actually prepping the boat.

We've been living off the boat in an RV (so much ROOOOOOM) for about 2 ½ years now, and she's suffered. Boats like to be used, lived on, and loved, and we've done none of those things.

Do you remember how hard your last year of anything was? Senior years at high school and college come to mind. Last month of any pregnancy? Time just seems to stretch to the horizon. It takes virtual decades to get to the end and then (*SNAP* like a rubber band) you're there.

We're in the molasses stage of ending our work careers. We thought we'd done that back in 2006, but then got mangled in the Great Recession of 2008 and had to claw our way back to solvency. Almost there….11 months to go….

So we are prepping the boat.

I know, I feel a bit like the girl who cried wolf. But this is different. Really. David and I are about to reach the Golden Retirement Age(s) and we've crunched numbers. It's doable. Before, when we were ready to pull our hair out and leave, it just wasn't. We added and added and came up with needing to die at 73. Or 80. And die after a decade or so of absolutely no health-related issues. We couldn't afford health issues. I still can't afford health-related issues; David was recently excited to receive Medicare benefits for his one dermatologist appointment.

But now, after eight very long years of working and not touching our savings...we can do it. Next May.

This is me applying the first coat of varnish down below. You can see the contrast of the sanded surface to the new glossy varnish! Like getting your nails done. I am doing all the woodwork below, except for the starboard side of the salon, which David did last fall. It's looking great!

What you can't see are the boxes and bits and rags and tools and crap all over the place, the v-berth stuffed with everything we took out of the salon, the utter turmoil of house remodeling. Be glad you can't.

This is the port side, behind the settee. The top piece of wood is newly varnished. The bulkhead to the right is ready to be varnished as soon as the top piece has all the coats applied. The horizontal slats don't need an upgrade (thank goodness). Because this is not a strip to the bone situation, just a re-do, we're talking 3-4 coats, not 6-10. It takes two full days for the stuff to dry, so it can be a lengthy process.

David is plugging away at all the upgrades and fixes and repairs that need doing. His next project is a hatch in the cockpit so he can access the engine, etc. without having to be Gumby and slide down inside the very skinny and claustrophobic lazarettes.

So think of us and send us some energy on Wednesday evenings and every Saturday and Sunday as we move forward.

.

This morning I woke up with the Cold Dreads. You may be familiar with them – they are the chattering list of all the things I need to do, finish, start, master, mail, decide, and pack before April 2012. We have drawn a line in the sand to push off then. April seemed a long way off when we made that decision, but the dates are rushing by and my list is longer now than it was three months ago. Land life keeps interfering with prep – you know: work, friends, Christmas, family, laundry, Wal-Mart, car maintenance…and all the stuff that needs fixing, maintaining, adding, cleaning, stowing, etc. on Raven.

I am a victim of adult ADD, and find myself rushing in six different directions, accomplishing a little here and a little there, but finishing nothing, which drives me to distraction. Hence the Cold Dreads. Because, that monkey mind insists, if you don’t do, finish, start, master, mail, decide, and pack, you will DIE.

Fortunately for me, I have been through this process before and I know how truly ridiculous it is. I well remember leaving our home, just for a long road trip, about eight years ago. You would have thought we were heading off into the wilds of Africa, we were so stressed. Leaving the dock in 2006 was the same. It will be the same this time, too. If I can just remember that once we push off (and I mean within the first 8” of clearing the dock) all this chatter stops and falls away and it’s just do the next thing, whatever that is.

Meanwhile, please excuse me. I have to work on that list.

Grinding toward Plan A

[Hilde's log]

Yes, this is my first post on this log in three years! To see why, visit my other blog: http://www.unedame.blogspot.com/.

David took the week off this last week for vacation. I use the term loosely, because we didn’t go anywhere and he worked the whole time. I did my regular work for various clients, but took off Friday and Saturday for a long weekend. David worked on boat projects, and that makes him happy. Makes me happy, too! I now have two shelves in one of my storage cabinets, which lets me actually see what’s in the cabinet without fear of causing an avalanche. We also now have two dry storage spaces in the v-berth for off-season clothes. We bought some (supposedly) air tight storage bags at Wally World yesterday, and I plan to put my winter stuff and land shoes in them and see what I can store. (I threw away two pairs of shoes….aaaaauuuugh.) We want all our personal items out of storage and on the boat, and off-season clothes have been a problem from the get-go.

We’re also getting the bimini, dodger, and mainsail cover replaced. They’ve gone from worn to shabby in the time we’ve spent here and it will be a relief to have them replaced. Once the dodger was off, I realized we needed to do the teak that it covers, so we’ve started on that. It’s hard, since summer is upon us and it’s 97 during the day. During the “vacation” we could put in an hour or two in the morning and another couple in the evening. It’s a slow go.

In fact, that’s what David remarked on, is how slowly projects go. He felt as though he hadn’t accomplished much, but I feel as though the barge has started to move, which is a good thing. We have a plan and we’re inching toward it. Before this past week, we had a plan that changed fairly regularly and had made no progress at all.

We have gone back and forth over staying or leaving. Our original plan was to come back to land, get good jobs, fill up the cruising kitty…so we came back to the worst recession in my memory, found $15/hr jobs and stayed even, more or less. We’ve gotten rid of probably 85% of our possessions. The last 15% is the killer. I spent 3 weeks scanning photos from 6 photo albums to clear out one more box.

David saw a story in one of the sailing magazines that started off “…so we sold everything and moved aboard.” What?! It’s taken us 8 years to get as far as we’ve come. Either they are lying through their teeth or they have no sentimental attachment to anything. Maybe their house was furnished in early Wal-Mart. It’s letting those cords to possessions die off that takes so long…I think I’m finally there. Well, I’m there until we go to storage and I see the This or the That which is irreplaceable and belonged to my mom. Ha.

But we’ve agreed to keep one smallish storage unit, 10 X 15, half for “garage stuff” (tools, etc.) and half for the oriental rugs, the silverware, the two end tables from the Middle East, the Arabic screen, etc. that I refuse to part with. Eventually, someday, we will be on land, due to being too old to get on the boat. Or eventually family members will settle down and want these priceless (to me) things.

But the rest goes. One. Thing. At. A. Time.